Frozen Shadows of Azeroth
by Revan419
Summary: The Druid Denmar embarks on a quest to deliver a message to King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. The Lich King is massing his forces in the heart of Northrend. Denmar and his companions must prepare for war in the ancient stronghold of Naxxramas.
1. A Visitor

_A/N: I will attempt to update this every Sunday, but I do have a fluctuating work schedule, so please be patient._

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CHAPTER ONE

A VISITOR

Denmar sat against the far wall of the Gilded Rose and stared absently into the mug of mead on the table between his hands. The small inn that occupied Stormwind's Trade District was one of the less prominent in his opinion, but it served his purpose just as well. There was not even a barmaid, and he strongly detested sobriety on a day like this. He had had to bring his own drink all the way from Ironforge. The drab room consisted of a single table that was currently in his use and several bookcases that covered the far wall. An assortment of chairs was gathered in a half circle around a grizzly bear rug opposite the bookcases. The room was empty except for himself, the innkeeper, and another night elf intently studying a book across the room.

The Druid stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out an envelope sealed with a crest he did not recognize for what seemed to be the fiftieth time that day. It was addressed in an ornately flowing script to King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. He had been given strict instructions to deliver it at any cost. He was not even made aware of its contents. He could remember the details of that meeting as if his life depended on it. At this point, it might very well. He smiled grimly then.

A hooded man wearing ceremonial robes of the Wizards of Dalaran had approached him one afternoon several weeks past in the middle of a crowded street.

"You are the High Druid Denmar, yes?" the Wizard asked without blinking.

Denmar halted and looked the man up and down warily. No one had ever addressed him as "High Druid" before. "Yes," he answered tentatively.

The other man reached a hand into his robes. Without hesitating, Denmar threw himself at the mage and brought him crashing to the ground. He had a firm grip on the Wizard's reaching arm. His other hand was wrapped around the frail man's throat. The citizens of Dalaran took no notice of the two men struggling on the densely packed city street. "You threaten me, man!" Denmar growled menacingly. "I will tear the flesh from your bones and send you into the dark abyss!"

The Dalaran Wizard desperately gasped for breath. "C-c-calm yourself!" He wheezed. Denmar slightly eased his grip on the man's throat. "I wish only to deliver a message." Denmar stood and hovered over him, ready to pounce at a moment's warning. The Wizard managed to sit up and pulled a small envelope out of his robe. He stretched out his hand to the Druid, and Denmar took it without looking at it. The smaller man regained his footing and pushed back his hood. Wispy grey hair stuck out from a wrinkled head in the oddest places. Sparkling blue eyes were set deep into his skull over an overlarge nose. The man smiled at him. It was a sincere smile, full of warmth. "Carry that letter to Wrynn of Stormwind before all is lost."

Denmar blinked. He was still holding the letter in his hand. What was this man thinking? He was no messenger. "All is lost? Speak Common, man, not cryptic messages."

In answer, the Wizard reached back into his robes and withdrew a small leather pouch. He tossed it to the Druid. "Forty gold coins for your services in this matter, High Druid. Ask of me no further questions."

Denmar weighed the pouch in his hand for a second before pocketing both the coins and the letter. He took the man at his instructions and strode away without another word. The Wizard watched his retreating back for a moment longer. "Good luck, High Druid," he whispered to himself. Then the Wizard simply disappeared, and the city of Dalaran noticed nothing but the hint of a distant memory come and gone.

Bringing himself firmly back to the present, Denmar sighed heavily to himself and drained the last of his mead. He slammed the mug back onto the table in stoic determination and replaced the letter in his pocket next to the pouch of gold coins. He looked up and waved the innkeeper over to his table.

She was a fair skinned girl with close-cropped brown hair and emerald green eyes. She wore a plain white blouse and navy blue skirt that was belted at the waist. She smiled beamingly at him as she approached. "Good afternoon, sir!" She curtsied. "I am Allison, proprietor of this inn. How may I help ye?"

The girl seemed to have a very short term memory. This was the fourth introduction she had given him. Denmar put on his best smile. "How much do I owe you for the night?"

"Oh," she said, her smile faltering. "Leaving already? Well, it'll be five gold for the room."

He reached into his pocket and counted out seven gold pieces. The poor girl looked like she needed something to keep her spirits up. "Thank ye kindly, sir!" She beamed again. He rose from the table, replaced his mug in his pack and walked towards the door. The other night elf was still intent on her reading. "Come back again, now!" Allison called out behind him. "We're always happy to have ye at the Gilded Rose!"

He walked outside into the Stormwind Trade District. It was a clear, crisp afternoon. The cobblestone streets were populated with travelers from all across Azeroth. The Bank and Auction House were bustling with activity. He could barely hear above all the commotion. He pushed his way through shoppers and hawkers towards Stormwind Keep. It was not long until the first screams began.

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_A/N: Please be sure to leave me your comments. Feedback is always appreciated!_


	2. The Fall of Stormwind

_A/N: Finished this chapter ahead of my intended schedule, so thought I would update._

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CHAPTER TWO

THE FALL OF STORMWIND

The Druid paused in mid stride as another scream ripped through the otherwise peaceful spring air. He could hear the sound of city guards shouting frantic orders. Steel clashed against steel in a tumultuous thunderstorm. Denmar swivelled his head. Whatever had occurred was already inside the city gates. There was nowhere to run for the people of Stormwind. Instinctively, the Druid reached out into the elements of nature and instantaneously shifted into cat form. The transition was not painful to him, exactly; he just found it slightly awkward to have to change the way he balanced himself so quickly. Where a moment before there had stood a night elf some may have considered to be handsome, there was now a panther as black as midnight. A tattoo of a half moon and star rested on opposite flanks of the cat. There was a tuft of fur that stuck up on the back of his neck, which served to warn away potential threats. The night elf had become pure bone and sinew. All of his senses had been heightened. He could hear the fighting as clearly as if he were in the center of it, and the scent of orc was foul in the air. He stretched out his newly taken form and yawned, his twin fangs glistening brightly in the sunlight. He took one last sniff of the air and then darted off towards the sound of battle.

Rounding the last bend that led to Stormwind's front gate, Denmar halted to survey the scene before him. General Marcus Jonathan and the city guards under his command were futilely attempting to hold the stonewrought bridge that led into the city against an advancing Horde onslaught. Bodies lay littered throughout the narrow entry point, casualties from both sides. One of the statues of ancient heroes that had stood watch over the city for generations lay in pieces in the water below. Denmar stood in silent fury as a tauren Death Knight effortlessly swept aside two more of the guard. The Alliance forces were being mauled over, and there were no reinforcements in sight. One of the Forsaken spotted the Druid and diverted his attention towards him. Denmar tensed as the Horde closed in on him. The undead hefted a massive waraxe as he ran. His form was clumsy. He was upon the Druid in two more steps. The gangly Warrior took an overbalanced swing, and Denmar sidestepped out of the way. He spun quickly and slammed his front paw into the fetid, rotting corpse's back, digging his claws in deep. The undead dropped silently to the ground, his spinal column severed.

Denmar raised his head just in time to see a pair of guards come skidding around the corner, blades at the ready. They charged past the Druid and threw themselves into the fray. The members of the Alliance had now been beaten back across the length of the bridge. Still more Horde poured in past the city gates. Denmar watched in horror as another of the guards was struck by an arrow. The man dropped to his knees and waited in dread as a gargantuan spider descended upon him. Denmar didn't know which was worse: the guard's writhing body or his bloodcurling screams.

The Druid had lingered idly for too long. Pain seared through him as another arrow grazed his left flank. He lowered his head and growled in fury. He looked up in time to see a troll skittering toward him. The cat paid no mind to the curved dagger in the Horde's hand. Before the troll had time to think, the Druid was upon him. He screamed as the cat crushed his neck with his razor sharp fangs. The ornate dagger clattered to the ground as life left its master's body. Denmar nonchalantly tossed the still twitching corpse aside.

General Jonathan called a retreat, "Men, fall back to the Keep! Defend the king with your lives!"

Denmar followed as the remainder of the guards returned to the Trade District. The city was desolate. The shops and windows were boarded shut. The people of Stormwind were no ignorant farmers. They knew how to protect themselves. Jonathan called a halt at the giant maple tree outside the city Auction House. He pulled four of the guards aside, speaking quickly and authoritatively. "Hold the line here. Allow us as much time as you can provide to make it to the Keep. If we are all to die this day, then we must at least ensure that he," the general pointed towards the Druid, "completes his mission at whatever cost." Denmar was not listening to the conversation, and took no notice of the gesture. "Hold fast, men!" And with that, the rest of the party continued through the canals toward the Keep.

A female orc stood poised under the arched entrance to Old Town. She carried a studded mace and had a maniacal gleam in her eyes. How had she slipped past the guards unnoticed? It didn't matter. The general dispatched two of the men to deal with her as the rest of them hurried onward. One of the guards called out to Denmar, "This way, High Druid!" He darted off down the canals, a less direct but perhaps safer route to the king.

Denmar didn't have time to puzzle the meaning of the title, nor why two people with seemingly no connection had chosen to bestow it upon him. He took off at a run after the guard, the others falling in behind them.

Upon arriving at the castle behind his escort, Denmar took a moment to truly appreciate the splendour of Stormwind. White marble columns stood on either side of him and ran the entire length of the entrance hall. They seemed to be living, ever watchful titans. Weapon racks dotted the walls in between vaulted doorways which led to other parts of the Keep. The arched ceiling was hung with dozens of lanterns, all intricate in design. Normally, there were sentries posted at stations throughout the Keep, but today soldiers were running to and fro. General Jonathan and the remaining six guards fell in behind the Druid. Marcus took a moment to regain his breath and then seized a castle defender that happened to be running by.

"Where is Lord Wrynn?" he demanded.

The other man seemed beside himself. He had a frantic look in his eyes. He had either lost his helmet or forgotten to don it, and his long blond hair was dishevelled. "T-the king is n-not here." He stammered. "H-he is i-indisposed."

Marcus shook the smaller man in frustration. "Indisposed!" He spat. "Where is he, damn you!"

The guard regained his composure. "General! I did not recognize you! Pardon me, sir, but we haven't had a very trivial afternoon," He sighed. "Erm, King Varian was wounded earlier today. Ambushed, if you will. Rogue. Right here, in the Keep. You believe that? We've got the bloody bastard locked in the cellar. Cursed Horde filth!" The other man spat as well. Quite literally.

"Where did they take him?" The General asked.

"Dalaran. He's hurt something fierce, sir. The Wizards will see him sorted out."

"Dalaran!" Marcus fumed. "Why are you keeping the Rogue alive?"

"To question him, sir. Don't you find it odd that a troll somehow managed to sneak in here?"

"Odd, yes. But I haven't known trolls to be much for talking."

Denmar was beginning to lose interest in the conversation. The King was not here. That was all that concerned him. Three weeks of laborious travelling had done nothing but perhaps made him lose a few pounds. The journey now ended where it had begun. He had to return to Dalaran.

Something sounded on the tile behind him. A footstep scuffled on the floor. The Druid didn't have time to move. Unbearable pain ripped through him once more as something pierced his lower right side. His vision faded and his senses were slipping.

A blurry figure appeared from a doorway to the side. Dimly, he heard a female voice. "For the Light! For the Naaru!" Something blue flashed over his head. The smell of seared flesh was faint in the air. The Druid slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The world rocked.

Darkness.

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_A/N: Chapter three should be ready by Sunday. As always, leave me your feedback!_


	3. Ghost in the Machine

_A/N: XD Chapter 3! Sorry for the delay. I had writer's block. :(_

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CHAPTER THREE

GHOST IN THE MACHINE

"What happened?" A voice asked concernedly.

"Well, here," a pause. This voice was female, strangely accented. "He was stabbed. Obviously. As for the other side," another pause. "He acquired that wound before I had arrived."

A third voice spoke in a hoarse whisper. "What were you doing in Stormwind, Bella?"

"That is not your concern. I have healed him as best I can, but he needs to rest now, and both of you need to leave."

"Bah!" The third voice scoffed, "He's stronger than you would lead us to believe. He looks healthier now than he did when you brought him here."

The first voice spoke up angrily. "Blëëd! You will do as the lady asks or suffer the same fate as Gateby. These are dark days. We must all unite in a common purpose instead of bantering crooked words. Come, Death Knight!" The sound of footsteps on wood reverberated throughout the room. "Ma'am, if you need us," he left the sentence unfinished.

"Yes, yes," the one called Bella responded hurriedly. "Thank you, Shantor." The other two departed from the room, leaving Bella alone with her patient. She bent over the still sleeping form. Naked from the waist up, his chest was chiselled. His purple skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Emerald green hair spilled over his shoulders, and his handsome face was unshaven. She placed her hands on his chest, murmuring under her breath. When she came away, he was breathing easier than he had been. There was still much that needed to be healed. She slumped her shoulders, drained from the healing.

She gathered the remainder of her strength and brushed her lips against the other's brow. "Rest now, night elf." She whispered. Then, rising from the bed, she snuffed out the lone candle on the bedside table and departed silently from the room.

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Fire.

Agonizing fire.

There was nothing but the pain; he was alone in a void with it. It was unreal, unbearable. He screamed out in desperation, and then…nothingness. The pain receded. Denmar awoke with a start.

"Oi!" Dimly, he heard a thump. "You shtartled me a right shpot, you did!"

Denmar weakly managed to prop himself up on his elbows. He was laying in bed in what seemed to be a fairly well-to-do inn. The wood floors were elegantly carpeted. There was a polished oak chest of drawers a few feet from him; bookcases filled with ancient text were scattered along the walls. There was a balcony across the room, and the wide doors were thrown open to greet the crisp afternoon. A gust of wind blew in and ruffled his bed sheets. He shivered. It was freezing outside, quite unusual for this time of summer. He could hear the sound of birds and the gentle dance of water coming from outside.

He took a shallow breath and looked down at himself. As far as he could tell, he was naked. A thin sheet covered his lower half. His abdomen was bandaged; he could recall being struck by the arrow. Reaching down with one hand, he felt another bandage on his right hip. He had no memory of that wound. Perhaps that was why he was here.

He heard a high pitched cough off to the side and raised his head sharply. A gnome Rogue stood by his bedside, dressed all in black leather. He wore spiked obsidian shoulderpads and a mask that covered everything but his blue hair and eyes.

"Well, it'sh about time!" The gnome exclaimed, hiccupping obnoxiously. "The lad finally rejoinsh the world of the livin'!"

Denmar blinked in spite of himself. A small smile grew on his lips. "Who are you, and where am I?" He asked.

The gnome bowed deeply. "Sorely Twitchblade, at your shervice. I provide…accesshories at this fine *hic* eshtablishment."

Denmar's smile grew. "Poisons, you mean."

The Rogue shrugged. "Eh, 'tish only a job. I much prefer to sit on the dock with a full belly and a mug of beer in my hand." He swallowed down another hiccup.

Denmar rose to a sitting position. "Well, Twitch, you still haven't answered my second question. What is this place?"

"Dis be the port town of Valgarde, located in the heart of the Howling Fjord." Twitch responded.

Denmar blinked again. "Northrend? How did I come to be here?"

"Tha', lad, ish a long shtory. I dun think you wan' me to *hic* bore you with it. Suffice it to shay that you be in good hands, now."

"Who brought me here, then?"

The gnome opened his mouth, but someone else answered the question for him. A stunningly beautiful draenei had entered the room. Her armour was ornate. It seemed more ceremonial than practical. Her light blue skin seemed to have an aura about it. Her long, flowing black hair was parted down one side; twin horns stood out on either side of her head. Her glowing blue eyes greatly complemented her skin. She stepped delicately toward the bed on a pair of hooves.

"I did, night elf." Her voice was cool, serene. The dialect of her people was thick on her tongue. "Leave us now, Sorely." The gnome squeaked and crept silently from the room.

Denmar had not taken his eyes from her since she had entered the room. She stood on the opposite side of the bed and looked down at him. Denmar could not tell what he saw in that gaze.

"I found you just after you were stabbed in the castle. Somehow, the Troll had managed to break free of the dungeons and chose to exact his revenge on you. I arrived just in time. I arranged passage aboard the first ship to leave Stormwind, and brought you here. I did what I could to nurture your wounds, but you still need to rest."

Denmar spoke for the first time. "You're a healer, then?"

"Of sorts. I am a Shaman. I am called Belladauna."

The Druid acknowledged the introduction. "I'm Denmar. Just Denmar. Please don't tell me you're one of those imbeciles who's gonna start spouting 'High Druid' nonsense at me."

The draenei smirked. "High Druid? Your ego is a bit much to take in all at once, no? I do not know of anyone I would address as 'High Druid', least of all an elf not fit to have left his mother's side."

Denmar felt his face grow heated. He brushed it aside. "Who are you, exactly?"

The Shaman seemed slightly taken aback. "I? I am the High Lady of the Ghost in the Machine. We are a secret society dedicated to the eradication of the Lich King and the rebirth of all things good in this world. We have family members spread all across the far reaches of Azeroth and beyond. For our own safety, and for the safety of others, no one person knows the guild roster in its entirety. I am as much a leader as we can manage these days. There is a small sect of officers beneath me, and that is enough to ensure that we do not stray from our goals."

Denmar took it all in eagerly. He had always wanted to exact vengeance on Arthas. Long ago, he had attempted to seek out the Knights of the Ebon Blade to join in their cause, but their operations were far too secretive for him to discover. "And what is it you want from me?"

Belladauna paused and chewed her lower lip. "We had a recent incursion. Several family members defected, led by a single infidel. We dispatched of said person, but we cannot risk the foundation of the guild being rocked in such a way again. I saw something in you that day in Stormwind. Something called out to me. It was not coincidence that we were both there that moment. After witnessing your actions firsthand, I think it is safe to say that you would be a valuable asset to our cause."

The Druid practically leapt at the opportunity presented to him. "I'm interested. Impose whatever conditions you wish."

Belladauna smiled then, her first real smile she had given him. "We have three basic tenants all family members must abide by. These are the law of our guild." The Druid was still listening intently. She continued. "The first rule states that a family member is to complete any contract assigned to him or her at whatever cost."

Denmar felt the air around him spark in anticipation. "The second rule states that no family member shall steal from a brother or sister under any circumstances."

The Shaman intensified her gaze. Her eyes glowed brightly. "The third and final rule is the most vital. No family member shall kill a brother or sister under any circumstances." Belladauna stopped then. She had a haunted look on her face.

The Druid needed only a moment to discuss it with himself. "Alright, I agree. I wish to join."

Belladauna smiled again. "I like your enthusiasm. We hold inception ceremonies in Dalaran for new recruits. One week from today. There, you will officially become one of us."

Her mention of Dalaran brought his memories flooding back. The letter! "Where are my clothes?" He demanded.

Belladauna pointed to the chest of drawers next to the bed. "Your robes and armour are inside. Your staff is downstairs with the innkeeper. She is quite fond of it. I do not envy you in trying to get it back."

The Druid felt a sharp twinge of pain in his abdomen. Something must have shown on his face, because the next thing he knew, the Shaman was pushing him back into bed. "You need to lie down. Rest now. We will talk more in the morning."

She placed her hand on his forehead and he felt cold rush throughout his body. He tried to call out to her, but consciousness was fading fast. Distantly he heard her voice, "Sleep now, night elf. Sleep, and dream of dreams."

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_A/N: Comments, praise, critique?_


	4. A Warning

_A/N: Chapter Four, updated on time, miraculously. :P_

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CHAPTER FOUR

A WARNING

The Wyrmrest Accord was a neutral faction dedicated to the eradication of the Blue Dragonflight. Both Alliance and Horde members could seek an audience with them, and their base of operations was known as Wyrmrest Temple, located in the heart of Dragonblight. The Red Dragonflight was the most active of the four Aspects, with a large number of Red Dragons guarding the Temple itself.

Long ago, the five great Dragon Aspects were blessed within the Temple and given their charge to watch over the budding world. Surrounding Wyrmrest Temple were five majestic Dragon Shrines: red, bronze, green, blue, and black, each blessed with the powers of its respective flight. More recently, the Scourge incursion had lain siege to these shrines in an effort to further its attempts at raising terrifying new variations of undead Dragons to serve the Lich King. In an attempt to allay these invasions, the Red Dragon Aspect, Alexstrasza, had begun recruiting heroes to aid in the fight against the Scourge.

Of course, Denmar knew it was only a dream, but that didn't make the atmosphere of the Temple around him and the sheer scale of everything any less grand. He had had the same dream for the past several weeks, all bringing him to this place and all ending the same way. But there was a feeling now. Something had changed.

Puzzled, he looked around. The ground level of the Temple still looked the same as it had always been. Colossal magenta pillars adorned with glowing lamps encircled the room. Blood red tapestries hung from the walls. The domed ceiling and the marble tile beneath him seemed to be in constant battle as to which was more intricately designed; strange symbols he did not recognize were inlaid on both. Benches gathered around the room seemed fit for audience purposes, or perhaps just a place to rest for weary travelers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He shook his head and muttered to himself that he was jumping at shadows.

He turned and swept toward one of the Temple's entrances. Two sentries stood at opposite sides of the immense stone archway. These were the only representation of the Blue Dragonflight that remained at the Temple. They were humanoid in form, but that was where the similarities ended. Towering over him on clawed feet, the two guards watched warily as he approached. They wore bloodstained plated armour and carried spears as tall as they themselves were. They had…dragon faces. That was the only way he could think to describe it. Azure eyes glowed over two slits that served as nostrils. The elongated muzzle was packed full of more razor sharp teeth than it seemed to be capable of holding. Veined fins hung on either side of their faces. Ivory horns jutted out over their spiny heads. The spines continued down the creature's backs, growing more pronounced until they finally evened out along the length of the scaled tails.

Denmar had done this before. It was the same routine as it had always been when he had the dream. He opened his mouth without hesitation. "Let me pass. I need to speak with Alexstrasza."

He elicited no response from the guards. One simply gestured with one hand, and the Druid had passed both of them in the next moment. On the steps outside waited Tariolstrasz, the Steward of Wyrmrest Temple.

The blood elf turned to face him as he came closer. "Visitors are not permitted to the other levels of the Temple unless requested by the Lord or Queen." He had recanted the same line verbatim in every occurrence of the dream.

Denmar held up a hand to stop him from going any further. "I must speak with Alexstrasza. It's urgent. I have important information regarding Cyanigosa and the Blue Dragonflight."

"Ah, yes," The blood elf mused. "The Queen told me that someone would come today. You may have passage to the Queen's chambers, elf."

After having ridden a Red Dragon to the top of the Temple so many times, Denmar was no longer bothered by the experience. He simply shut his eyes to keep from being disoriented and was swept off towards the Queen's chambers.

The top of the Temple was much the same as the bottom, with the exception of no walls or domed ceiling. Red Dragon Aspects encircled the room, everlasting guardians of their Queen. A massive orb hovered over the center of the room; some mysticism created by Alexstrasza, Denmar had always assumed. The Queen stood with her Consort, Krasus, at the opposite end of the room. Denmar approached without pause.

"Alexstrasza," he began, "Dalaran is in grave danger."

The great Dragon Aspect narrowed her gaze at him. "This we know, High Druid."

Denmar continued regardless of what she said. "Malygos has unleashed his Blue Dragonflight agents upon Dalaran. Utilizing a massive crack in the Violet Hold's roof, agents of the Dragon Aspect have begun pouring through portals within the prison, testing its integrity and risking the safety of everyone outside its walls.

"The Kirin Tor has called upon you to aid the city. What say you?" The Druid paused, waiting for her answer.

Alexstrasza was scantily clad in her humanoid form. Assuming the shape of a female blood elf, what she wore left little to the imagination. "We have no agents to spare at this time, High Druid."

The Druid went on ruthlessly. "Malygos has sent his trusted lieutenant Cyanigosa to ensure victory and guarantee that the city is destroyed. Dalaran will be lost unless the Wyrmrest Accord chooses to act."

Krasus decided to intervene. "The Queen has spoken. Take what she has said in stride and leave us, now," he said pompously.

Denmar matched stares with the Consort. He shook his head. "I will not."

Krasus' eyes widened. "You dare defy the Red Dragonflight? Leave us!" The blood elf raised a hand towards the Druid. "Go!"

"Krasus!" Alexstrasza shouted suddenly. She brought a hand to her forehead and winced. "The Blue Dragonflight comes. Here. Now!"

The Temple trembled as the earth heaved underneath. Screams and shouts of battle sounded from far below. A great blue Dragon reared up suddenly behind the Queen. He beat his wings powerfully and snapped his jaws, and then Alexstrasza was simply gone, swallowed by the great behemoth. Krasus had been knocked flying, but now he rose in fury. "Malygos!" the Consort screamed. The blood elf began to transform.

Denmar watched it all through horrified eyes. He watched as the blood elf assumed the shape of a Red Dragon aspect and arched toward the much larger Blue. Malygos had eyes only for the Druid. He swept toward Denmar, breathing a great column of fire. Denmar flung himself out of the way in desperation, and smashed face first into the marble tile. Everything went black.

Denmar awoke with a start.

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He bolted upright, shaking. That had never happened before. The Blue Dragonflight had never been part of the dream, unless you counted the guards. He gingerly removed his sheets and stood, still reeling from the experience.

He looked around the room wearily. Judging from the glow of the moon coming through the closed doors that led to the balcony, it was deep in night. He strode to the wardrobe and began to don his clothes. After he was dressed, he went down to the common area of the inn.

The main room of the inn had a much warmer feel to it than upstairs. A blazing flame crackled merrily in the fireplace that sat opposite the wooden staircase. Lamps hung from banisters all around the room. A stuffed caribou and boar head decorated one wall, while faded paintings of landscapes sat on others. Tables and chairs were gathered on red and green carpets with gold fringe in multiple places around the common room. A bar stood against one wall, with a stack of beer kegs gathered beside it. Denmar spotted Belladauna occupying one of the tables with a man he didn't recognize and started toward them.

Bella looked up from the conversation she had been having with the other man and smiled at him. "Good evening, night elf," she gestured to an empty chair. "Would you care to join us?"

Denmar took the offer. "Thank you, Shaman," he said.

"Please call me Bella," she replied. "This is Shantor," she added, pointing to the other man. He was bald and middle aged, dressed only in his nightclothes, as was she. He nodded in acknowledgement.

"How are you feeling, night elf?" Bella asked.

"I'm much better, thank you. I wouldn't have made it if you hadn't arrived when you did."

She brushed it off nonchalantly. "It was nothing. Shantor and I were just discussing some of our family members that went missing some time past."

"Missing?" The Druid inquired. "What happened to them?"

"They went on a mission in Ulduar. That was three weeks ago. We have not heard from them since." Shantor lowered his head at this. Bella looked over at him worriedly. "One of those that went missing is Shantor's wife, Amagny."

"What were they assigned to do?" Denmar asked curiously.

"It does not matter right now. What does matter is this. We searched your clothes before bringing you here. That letter you carry addressed to Varian Wrynn bears the seal of our guild. After further analyzation, Shantor discovered that the envelope is addressed in the hand of our brother, Reney. He is also among the ones that went missing in Ulduar."

Denmar was shocked. "You went through my possessions?"

Shantor looked up. "For our own safety. We had no idea who you were."

Belladauna interrupted them both. "We did not open the letter. It is not our right. But we do feel that it is imperative that you deliver this to King Wrynn as soon as possible. We are leaving for Dalaran ahead of schedule; indeed, we were just waiting for you to awaken. Gather whatever you require and meet us back here, night elf."

"Now?" Denmar exclaimed. "It's the middle of the night, and Northrend is no easy route cross country."

"We cannot risk delay," Bella countered him. "We must discover what has happened to our family members. That letter holds the answers."

Denmar sighed. "Alright, I just need to get my staff from the innkeeper."

Shantor grunted and produced his stout quarterstaff from under the table. He passed it along to the Druid. "It was no easy task to get this from her, Denmar. I trust you keep it close."

The Druid nodded in thanks. Belladauna returned her gaze to him. "Now that you're ready to travel, Shantor and I must go upstairs to change. Please wait for us here." The other two departed from the table, leaving Denmar alone.

He let his eyes wander around the room in anticipation. Sometime during the conversation, Sorely Twitchblade had come down from his room and was now dancing on the bar to raucous applause from the bartender.

"You're shayin you wan…you wan…*hic* you wan' me to dansh on dis bar? *hic*" The gnome squeaked. "Maeshtro! Cue da mushic!"

Denmar smiled. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he truly belonged somewhere.

The door to the inn burst open, shattered chunks flying everywhere.

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_A/N: Comments, praise, critique?_


	5. Dalaran Refuge

_A/N: Chapter Five, sorry it's so short. I didn't feel like writing much today._

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CHAPTER FIVE

DALARAN REFUGE

In the past, the city of Dalaran was located within the Alterac Mountains in the Eastern Kingdoms. Recently, the city and the Violet Citadel – Dalaran's central fortress which housed all the secrets of the Kirin Tor, were moved to their current location floating above the Crystalsong Forest in Northrend. From the time of its foundation, the Violet Citadel has served as the focal point for magi and the study of the arcane throughout human history. The kingdom's national colour was violet and its flag was a golden eye set against a light purple background.

For what would be the last time that day, Reney checked to make sure that his twin swords were clear in their sheaths on his belt. The white marble staircase before him that led up to the imposing Violet Citadel was an impressive display. Behind him, peasants and wayfarers engulfed the redstone streets of the city of Dalaran. A tailor leered at a passing woman and shouted his wares, holding up a length of yellow cloth. "Only five copper pieces, lady! The finest cloth in all of Dalaran!" The city was a hubbub of activity behind him, but Reney was intently focused on his task.

The elegant staircase that led up to the structure before him was completely devoid of life. The Citadel seemed to have been carved rather than built, but the Rogue knew of no existing creature that possessed such delicate artisan's hands. Spires and parapets dotted the stars; towers inlaid with ivory and domed in purple and gold rose to great heights. Dozens of windows in the upper reaches of the Citadel had light spilling through them; most of the mages of Dalaran took up residence here.

As he entered the Citadel, everything suddenly went silent. The magical barrier of the walls had shut out the upheaval of the rest of Dalaran. The circular entrance chamber was occupied by only a handful of people, all gathered in a tight knit group on the indigo constellar design in the center of the room. The atmosphere was dimly lit by sunburst torches set in brackets on serpentine columns that stood sentry along the walls. Balconies to the left and right overlooked the chamber; Reney assumed this was the place where committees of the Kirin Tor would be most effective. Opposite the room from him, another staircase rose to doors that led off to other parts of the palace. The yellow and violet starry ceiling pattern encircled by bronze leaf carvings was the most fanciful work he had ever seen.

Reney took no notice of his surroundings as he approached the most powerful figureheads in Dalaran. Archmages Aethas Sunreaver and Modera were both high ranking members of the Kirin Tor. Vereesa Windrunner, glorified elven ranger of the Second War, was the leader of the Silver Covenant, a militant group of high elves who opposed the inclusion of blood elves in the Kirin Tor. Reney ignored these three and stood unfazed before the leader of the Kirin Tor, Rhonin.

A powerful human mage, Rhonin was instrumental in breaking the power of the orcs at the end of the Second War by freeing the Dragonqueen Alexstrasza from her imprisonment by Nekros Skullcrusher, a former orc warlock of the Dragonmaw Clan who used the Demon Soul to keep her prisoner. The flaming staff he carried was a small conflagration that represented the brutal paths he had taken to his present status. Hazel eyes set deep into his skull reflected the horrors of his past. Golden locks framed his weathered face and fell to just beneath the nape of his neck. His purple and gold robe and light infused shoulder pads were a small tribute to the beauty of Dalaran.

Reney locked eyes with the mage and brought his fist to his chest, as was custom. "We, the Ghost in the Machine, call upon the Kirin Tor for aid!" He waited idly for a response.

Rhonin brought a hand to his chin in contemplation, stroking the beginnings of a beard there. "Why have you come here?" he asked.

"Five of us were sent to Ulduar, to the Halls of Lightning, to sabotage Loken's mass production of Iron vrykul. We were…unsuccessful." Reney paused, lamenting. "Of the five original members of my team, only three made it out of Ulduar without injury. One of us is probably dead, and the other is held prisoner by Loken himself."

Reney reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sealed envelope. "I request only that you entrust this to the safest hands and see it delivered to Varian Wrynn as soon as possible," he said, passing the letter along to the mage.

Rhonin took the proffered item with a steady hand. "I personally do not have the time to make such a journey. One of my mages should be up to the task. I will do as you say, Rogue."

Reney nodded in thanks. He turned to go, but the mage opened his mouth once more. "Just one more thing, Rogue. You say one of you was captured. Whom?"

Reney smiled then, his first smile in three days. "One of your mages. I believe you know her. Amagny."

Rhonin's eyes widened in shock. Before he could retort, several pairs of footsteps echoed behind Reney and a firm hand gripped his shoulder. Other hands groped for his arms, holding them fast behind his back. He struggled for a moment, and then a knee drove up into his abdomen and knocked the wind out of him.

A gravelled voice sounded from his left shoulder. "The Argent Crusade does not permit servants of the Lich King to saunter freely about the streets of Dalaran, scum."

Reney regained some of his strength at this accusation. "The Lich King? Ha! May Arthas and the Scourge burn in eternal hellfire."

The other man he couldn't make out from this angle spoke again. "Silence, boy. We would not hear your worm's tongue in this place."

Rhonin spoke up furiously. "Tirion! Why do you subdue this man?"

"Why?" The paladin shot back harshly. "For his treason against the state, and the peoples of Azeroth. His fate now rests in the hands of the Argent Crusade." He paused for a moment. "May we have pity on your soul," he whispered with slight amusement.

Reney struggled in one last desperate rage. He could hear the sound of Tirion shouting orders. "Hold him fast, men! Hold him!" Then something heavy and blunt slammed into the back of his skull, and the Rogue knew no more.

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_A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique?_


	6. The Argent Crusade

_A/N: Chapter Six, finished the same day as Chapter Five, because I'm Jesus like that. Couldn't resist updating it now. Uhmm...I really like this chapter. It amuses the shit out of me. It was enormously fun to write. Enjoy. XD_

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CHAPTER SIX

THE ARGENT CRUSADE

Cyo cursed out loud as he stumbled over a stone in the road for the second time that afternoon. A sharp gust of wind plastered his cloak to his back and streamed it out before him as he suddenly dropped to his knees. He had to take a deep breath to keep his lungs from freezing. The snowy peaks of Icecrown and the jagged, frost covered roads did not make for simple travelling.

The Death Knight tensed in surprise as a bone studded battleaxe buried itself in a small snow drift three feet from him. His eyes followed the shaft of the axe upward to see a Felguard towering over him. The demons were originally the Burning Legion's rank and file soldiers, and were conscripted from the mo'arg demon race. The Felguard's skin was a deep shade of mahogany, and massive horns protruded from its back. Its plated armour left little opening to attack at all, covering the creature's right arm, legs, back, and head. It made no sound at all as it regarded the Death Knight kneeling before it, staring blankly with obsidian eyes.

"He won't hurt you," a cheerful voice sung out behind Cyo. "I've told you before, brother, Skelshril obeys my every command."

Cyo took another breath. His chest was heaving with the intense cold. "You'll excuse me if I don't take your word for it, Avellin."

The Felguard hefted its axe from the snow and looked at it, seeming to have forgotten what it was. The Warlock's boots crunched in the snow as he strode up beside the night elf. "You never did listen, did you, brother? It doesn't matter. We're here." Avellin extended a hand and helped Cyo back to his feet. The night elf brushed the snow from his clothes as a handsome woman on a pale horse cantered purposefully toward them.

She reined in her horse beside them and drew her sword in one swift movement, holding the blade under the Death Knight's chin. "Servants of Arthas are not welcome here, or anywhere the Argent Crusade holds any influence."

Cyo sighed exasperatedly. Everything had been going so well before they had been sent on that cursed mission to Ulduar. The woman redirected her attention to Avellin. "You, there. Human. Why do you conspire and travel with such company?"

Avellin felt his face grow heated. The Warlock who was usually so buoyant and blissful shook with fury. "How dare you! This night elf is not one of those mindless Scourge fools dedicated to the glorification of the Lich King! He is a Knight of the Ebon Blade, and we share in your cause. The Ghost in the Machine revels in the same dark deeds that you and yours take part in every day!"

The Crusader on the horse was taken aback completely. "Y-your pardon, sirs. I mistook you as the enemy," she stammered, lowering her sword.

In a flash, Avellin regained all of his charisma. "Not at all, soldier. You were just doing your duty. Please, we have important information regarding Loken. My friend, here, has had a vision, and my other friend is in immediate danger. We must speak with Lord Tirion Fordring at once."

The woman on the horse snapped back to attention, sheathing her sword once more. "Right away, sir. This way!" She called out, turning her horse back up the slope she had come.

Avellin gave Cyo a gentle shove to get him started behind the horse. The night elf had not even flinched throughout the entire incident. The Death Knight had been through too much already, he assumed. He followed closely behind Cyo, Skelshril bringing up the rear. "A hot meal and some warm beds would not be too far amiss, ma'am," the Warlock called out with a flourish. "After all, we have travelled a long way!"

__________

The small pavilion the three of them were left under while two of the Crusaders were dispatched to find the Highlord was little protection against the elements. Nobody was even present to stand guard over them, something Cyo found highly unusual. The hastily pitched tent was barely wide enough for he and Avellin to stand shoulder to shoulder, and the only other thing that occupied it was a dingy wooden table sprawled with maps that detailed the terrain of Northrend.

Another harsh gust of wind brought the sound of footsteps and armour clanging as a Crusader parted the tent flaps and the Highlord of the Argent Crusade ducked inside. Tirion Fordring was an old man now, but no less the soldier. The innumerable battles he had fought were etched in the lines on his face. He swept cold grey eyes across the three of them, taking everything in. "Speak," he commanded.

Avellin assumed as much solemnity as he could manage to muster. "My Lord," he began, "we are brothers of the Ghost in the Machine, a society not unlike that which you have here. We desire only that the rule of the Lich King is brought crashing down."

"Fearing that the Iron vrykul would be turned to the cause of the Scourge, our leaders dispatched a small group of us to interrupt Loken's production of his servants deep within Ulduar. Needless to say, the mission did not go well." Avellin paused here, gesturing towards Cyo.

"Before Loken took one of us hostage and sent the rest of us away with threats of a fate worse than death should we ever return, he imprinted something on my companion's mind. Quite simply, Highlord, he gave him a vision. A vision of the end of life on Azeroth."

Tirion had not changed his expression throughout the whole explanation. The paladin seemed skeptical, at best. "What is it you want us to do?"

"Do?" The Warlock smiled from ear to ear. "Ultimately, we request your assistance in sabotaging Ulduar and getting our friend back." His smiled dimmed only a little. "But for right now, simply go to Dalaran and bring our brother to this place. A human Rogue with sister blades. You will find him in the Violet Citadel. We sent him on a critical mission to deliver a letter that contains everything we have learned. He does not know where we are, as we ourselves did not know where we were going at the time."

Fordring scoffed at this. "That is a very strange tale, indeed, and an odd request. Rhonin has not looked too kindly on me, as of late. It will have to look convincing. My men and I cannot just drag an innocent man from the streets of Dalaran without probable cause."

"Do whatever you must, Highlord. If Reney asks too many questions, I'll say the entire incident was Cyo's idea." Suddenly, the Warlock burst out laughing.

"Very well," The paladin replied. "I will go to Dalaran myself, and find this man. In the meantime, the Crusaders here will be able to assist you in anything you may need. You and your…brother…may have a pair of the tents set up on the hillside outside. I will have food and drink brought to you."

"Excellent!" Avellin exclaimed, making Cyo jump. The night elf had been gazing absently, lost in his own world.

__________

Stars and galaxies wheeled overhead, and every moment of existence seemed to be an agonizing lifetime. A hot white light fumed within him; his entire head seared as if it were on fire. But it was not the end.

Reney awoke to the terrifying sight of Skelshril hovering over him, bearing the axe he so loved. Reney knew he was imagining things, but sometimes he swore the Felguard had a personal vendetta against him. The demon seemed to delight in trying to intimidate him on a daily basis.

From his position on the ground, the Rogue could tell only that he was lying in a tent, and it was midday, judging by the light that was shining through the fabric. The Rogue tried to sit up, but the excruciating pain radiating from his skull made him reconsider his decision.

He lay on his back for a few more minutes, staring at the imposing figure of the Felguard, until he became bored with the demon's antics. "Well?" he said.

In response, Skelshril simply muttered something in Eredun that he couldn't make out and his brother Avellin entered the tent in the next instant. "What is it?" the Warlock asked. The demon merely pointed at Reney and stomped outside in a very real imitation of annoyance.

"So, you're finally awake," the Warlock beamed at him. "Took you long enough, eh?"

"What happened?" Reney asked groggily.

"You took a nice little blow to the head, you did!" Avellin said cheerfully. "It was Cyo's idea completely. I was not involved."

Reney groaned in pain. "I'm sure you weren't. How long have I been unconscious?"

"Three days," Avellin responded. "We're staying with the Argent Crusade, at the moment. They have agreed to assist us with our little problem. Did you er…deliver the message?"

"Not personally, no." Reney said. "I gave it to Rhonin before those buffoons accosted me."

"Ah, I see." Avellin commented briskly.

"Was it necessary to brutalize me like that?"

Avellin finally stopped grinning for a moment. "I really am sorry, brother. We had to make it look realistic. It would not do if the symbol of hope and Light and the main faction against the Scourge invasion was dragging seemingly innocent people from the streets of a public city in broad daylight."

Reney would have hit him if he was not lying on the ground. "Why didn't you just have Tirion ask me to accompany him?"

Avellin opened his mouth, and then paused in thought. "Oh," he said, looking dejected. "I didn't think of that."

The Rogue rolled over onto his side and groaned again. "Go away, Avellin," he moaned.

The Warlock's signature grin shot back to his face. "Oh, come on now, don't be that way. We're all waiting for you out here. Ready to get Amagny back? Come on now, get up and get dressed. Meet us under the large pavilion." He turned and started back outside. "And be quick about it!" he shouted over his shoulder.

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_A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique?_


	7. A Night in Valgarde

_A/N: Chapter Seven. Sorry for the long delay, I have had to deal with a lot of real life issues. WoW hasn't been at the top of my priorities. It still isn't, actually. But I will continue to write purely because I enjoy it. I hope you guys do too._

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CHAPTER SEVEN

A NIGHT IN VALGARDE

The same night that Reney and his two brothers allied with the Argent Crusade in preparation for a militant incursion into Ulduar, the human Death Knight Blëëd was completing his final circuit of the Valgarde town perimeter. The waxing glow of the moon shone brightly off the water. He looked up at the clear night sky, pondering the last few days. He wasn't too sure about the elf Bella had found. He didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

He thought he spotted something careen overhead. A brightly shining star winked out of existence for half a second, and then was back. Instinctively, the Death Knight reached a hand over his shoulder, firmly gripping the shaft of his axe. He scanned the sky for a moment longer before shaking his head and telling himself that he was being childish.

Blëëd made his way over to the crackling bonfire in the middle of the camp. A still form sat opposite the fire from him; Lord Irulon Trueblade of the Argent Crusade. The paladin oversaw everything that went on at the Valgarde outpost. Blëëd took a seat on the mossy log next to him.

"Everything looks fine," the Death Knight reported. "I sent two sentries out to scout across the river. They should be back momentarily."

The paladin didn't even turn to acknowledge his presence. He was staring aimlessly into the flames. "Check again. A full sweep of the town, and on the hillside, there." He gestured absently over his shoulder. "Something is amiss this night. I can feel it. Do not let your guard down."

Blëëd pushed down the sharp annoyance he felt. "You've said much the same for the past two days. If you're so concerned, _my Lord,__"_he iterated the title facetiously, "then why are you sitting here where an unskilled archer could pick you off from twenty yards away?"

The paladin finally turned to regard him. His eyes were empty, dead. "I sit here, Death Knight, because there is no hope."

__________

Sweeping low on his bone griffin, the death knight Ixchel, long time servant of the Lich King, surveyed the rugged landscape below. He was able to see better in the dark than most creatures that walked this earth. He could clearly make out every guard stationed around the Valgarde outpost. The roaring bonfire in the center of the camp hurt his eyes, so he directed his attention away from it. Towards the inn.

He landed the bird as discreetly as he could on the shingled rooftop. He dismounted, calmly stroking the bird's spine as he waited. The griffin began to grow irritated, pulling anxiously at its reins. It snapped its beak in a huff and clicked its talons on the shingles noisily, making Ixchel hiss.

_Clack._

_Clack._

_CLACK._

Finally, the moment had come. In a swift hand gesture, Ixchel dismissed the encumbersome bird, and it departed as silently as they had come. Without a moment's pause, he reached a hand into his pockets and searched for the gift his master had bestowed upon him. He pulled out a slender wand, perhaps carved from ivory. He directed the tip away from the town, towards the moonlit night sky. It glowed briefly with one flash of light. Two. Then he replaced the wand in his pocket and began to discern how to get down from this abominable rooftop.

__________

Purely for safety reasons, Belladauna and Shantor were dressing in the same room. It made the Shaman blush just a little, but the Paladin refused to allow her to leave his sight. He kept his eyes directed at the floor, out of courtesy.

He thought he heard something click against the rooftop. And then he thought he heard it again. He raised his eyes sharply, forgetting Bella was still naked from the waist down. She was turned away from him, but her ears were pricked, listening.

"Did you hear something just now?" The Paladin asked.

The Shaman waited a moment before responding. "I did. I am sure it was just the wind, or perhaps a squirrel."

Shantor listened a moment longer before nodding in agreement and returning to his study of the floor tiles. "So what do you make of this night elf, Queen?"

"I? It does not matter what I think. He is here, and that is all that concerns us."

"You like him," Shantor said boldly.

Bella felt her face grow heated again. "Perhaps some things are best left unsaid for now, Paladin," she said coolly. Pulling her trousers on, she turned to face him. "When we get to Dalaran, I need to know that you are with me."

Shantor was puzzled for a moment, but he trusted his Queen. "Always, Lady."

"Good. Come, then," the Shaman walked past him and started down the stairs that led back to the common room.

Shantor waited only a moment before snatching his sword and shield and following.

__________

Denmar rose from the table in one swift movement and had assumed his otherworldly cat form in the next. He dodged out of the way as a splintered hunk of the door flew past him, catching Sorely Twitchblade in the shoulder. The drunken gnome toppled soundlessly behind the counter, the bartender standing silently, his mouth gaping.

When the dust finally settled, Denmar had only a second to avoid the hacking sword that slashed at his right side. Another blade uppercut his left flank and he sidestepped out of the way. The death knight attacking him was a jumbled mass of fury. He was completely encased in plate armour; the only weak spot Denmar could see might have been the other's neck. His claws would be pretty useless in trying to penetrate that.

The Druid growled in anger as the death knight shot him a maniacal gaze. He stretched out one arm half heartedly toward the bartender, and the poor man was entombed in chains of ice. The Scourge had done it purely because he could, and his ethereal laughter echoed throughout the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Denmar saw Bella and Shantor descend the staircase and come charging toward him. Wanting to help in some way, the Druid latched his fangs onto the death knight's arm and forced him to focus his attention on the cat. Shantor pummelled into the death knight and sent him flying across the room.

The Scourge regained its feet as if nothing could phase it, but Shantor was there, bashing it in the face with his shield. The death knight was knocked backwards over a table, but it attempted to rise again. A bolt of electricity sizzled in the air and sparked towards the three of them, hitting the death knight squarely in the chest. He didn't get up again.

For good measure, Shantor walked over and planted the entire length of his sword in the body. He had to be dead, now.

Denmar shifted back into humanoid form. Shantor walked over to him, gesturing at the body. "Where did he come from?" the Paladin asked.

"Well if I knew that, then I would be far more familiar with the Scourge than most folk would be comfortable with," Denmar replied.

Shantor grunted in agreement. "I suppose so. Bella," the Shaman had been staring at the bartender, "what are you doing?"

The Shaman turned back to look at them. "This man is not dead. But I do not know how to remove these icy ropes. I can feel his life force. He is frozen, and pleading."

Shantor walked back to the body and retrieved his sword. "I'm thinking this will work." The Paladin motioned Bella out of the way and brought the full force of his blade down in one powerful swing. The ice did not even crack. Shock from the impact raced up the Paladin's arm, and he dropped his sword with numb fingers, falling back.

"I was afraid of that," Bella said. Shantor looked up at her and rolled his eyes.

"I'll be sure to—" the Paladin paused in mid sentence. A chilling scream had rent the air from outside. Denmar turned to regard the other two.

"I don't think that was the last of the Scourge," he said.

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_A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique? :)_


	8. Trials and Tribulations

_A/N: Chapter Eight, updated. It's slightly longer than the other chapters. I hope you enjoy it. _

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CHAPTER EIGHT

TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS

Belladauna dipped her quill in the inkwell one last time before bending over the small, leather bound book on the table before her. She had started keeping a log of guild events a while back, trying to keep everything neat and organized; the last few pages were scrawled over in her disjointed handwriting. The last few days had been particularly exhaustive.

Finishing, she set the quill aside and pored over her notes one last time.

_Year 30, Date Unknown_

_Today is the day of reckoning. Mutiny seeps in through every crack in our foundation. I fear it is beyond my control, beyond our control. Every hour, it draws closer. Deception. And these murders__…__family members found dead in their beds. Good people killed in cold blood. We must put an end to it. _

_I go now into the future. I go into certain doom, but the sun shines clearer. Sorrow fills my heart, and vengeance my mind. _

_Belladauna, High Lady of the Ghost in the Machine_

She closed the book and sat back in her chair, thinking. A cold draft of wind drifted in from outside. Nothing was certain, now. She closed her eyes, musing everything that had happened. The Shaman was so engaged in her own thoughts that she didn't even hear someone enter the room.

"Belladauna," a chipper female voice sounded behind her, while a comforting hand was placed on her shoulder. "It is time."

Bella nodded in vague acknowledgement. She rose from her chair and replaced the small journal in her pocket. "Let us be quick, then."

The other woman had flowing auburn hair down past her shoulders. The robes she wore represented her status within the magi of Dalaran. The only visible weapon she carried was a wickedly carved scimitar belted at her waist.

The small inn the two of them occupied was at the heart of the Scryer's Tier, deep within Shattrath City. The city was a major hub in Outland situated in the northwestern portion of Terrokar Forest. It was a capital-sized sanctuary city populated by ancient heroes and naaru, a dimension-travelling race of sentient energy beings. The Scryers were a group of blood elves that broke away from Prince Kael'thas and offered to assist the naaru of Shattrath. Belladauna and her companions had found sanctuary on Scryer's Tier some time ago.

The inn was tiny, giving the atmosphere of a cave dwelling. There was only the common room they had just entered and the guest room in the back. All the guests shared a single room. Privacy was not highly valued, as the Scryers were constantly accepting a barrage of refugees from Azeroth.

A single shelf of books, a desk, and a dingy cot were the only furnishings in the common room. Haelthol, the innkeeper, was a young blood elf who kept to himself for the most part. Belladauna smiled at him as they passed, and he reciprocated it. Haelthol would never charge her for her time spent there. He knew what she had been through. What they had all been through.

Upon exiting the inn, Belladauna grabbed her companion by the arm and spun her around to face her. "This is far enough."

The other woman stared at her in puzzlement. "Bella, I—"

The Shaman cut her off, waving her hand. "Amagny, we need to go. Now."

Amagny bit her lower lip for a moment before nodding and drawing herself up tall. "Hold on to my arm fast, Lady." Then the Mage simply whirled and the two of them vanished in thin air. Thunder pealed with no sound.

The interdimensional space teleportation rift that Amagny had created and warped them into seemed to tear at the very fabric of their being. The two of them were alone in a chaotic, heaving void. Time was at a standstill as planes from other dimensions spun beneath their feet. And then it was over. Their legs turned to jelly as they were firmly planted back in conjunction with real time.

Bella gasped and dropped to her knees, her head disoriented from the teleportation experience. Amagny seemed unfazed; the Mage did things such as this on a daily basis. She bent to gingerly help the Shaman back to her feet. "We cannot risk delay, Queen. The others are waiting for us."

The pair of them were alone in an eerie hallway that seemed to be carved deep within a mountain. Distantly, water could be heard dripping from an unknown source. The walls of the expanse of hall were composed of massive inlaid stones. Smaller stones mixed with smooth, ocean rocks made up the floor beneath them. There was a fetid smell in the air. The smell of death and decay. Bella could sense that this place was ancient, and cursed. A set of ironbound doors stood ajar at the end of the hall, emitting the only source of light. The Shaman craned her neck back, trying to make out the ceiling, but there was not enough light to see anything interesting.

Amagny started out toward the doors, gesturing hurriedly for the Shaman to follow her. Bella crept forward with one shaky hoof, slowly gaining confidence. "What is this place?" she asked.

The Mage did not respond, merely turning her head and bringing a finger before her own lips, shushing her. As they crossed the length of hall to the doors, Bella began to have the distinct feeling that they were being watched, tracked. Before she could voice her feelings out loud to the Mage, they had reached the doors and Amagny was pushing her way inside. Bella hurried after.

The sudden radiance of light was like a gunshot inside her skull. The chamber the two of them had entered was adorned with thousands of glowing crystals that hung precariously from the ceiling. The room was crescent in shape; they had just come through the only entry or exit. Half moon pillars draped in silver and black tapestries hugged the other wall. A carving of a golden dragon dominated the floor.

Steps carved from ivory and carpeted with the same silver and black rose to a dais opposite them. Nine flawless, ruby studded thrones stood there in a half circle facing the doors. She knew without looking that seven of the chairs were presently occupied by her sect of officers. The Warriors Dethecution and Soultaker, Reney, the Death Knight Cyo, Warlock Avellin, Amagny's husband Shantor, and the night elf Hunter Gunslinger. The last rose to greet them. "You know, Amagny," Gun began, "for someone that can teleport to anywhere on the planet just by wishing it, you take forever."

Amagny cocked her head at him in irritation. "Your pardon, sir. I was delayed."

The Hunter chuckled in mild amusement. "Well, come on, then. Get up here and sit down. Let's get all this unpleasantness over with, shall we?"

Belladauna followed the Mage up to the platform and took a seat between Gunslinger and Shantor, with Amagny sitting opposite her husband.

Dethecution cleared his throat and turned to Shantor. "Is everything ready?" he asked the Paladin.

Shantor nodded. The Warrior sat up taller in his throne. "Bring in the accused!" He called out in a booming monotone.

The doors opened once more and a pair of goblins entered the room, prodding a hooded figure before them with spears. The hooded man took an unbalanced step, and then lurched forward in a rush as one of his guards jabbed him in the back. The goblins brought him to stand over the center of the dragon insignia, and then they both cracked their spears sharply on the back of his legs, forcing the hooded man to his knees. One of the guards reached out a hand and tore off the hood, and the two goblins retreated back the way they had come.

Spiky golden and yellow locks jutted out haphazardly over the man's skull. His dark eyes were sunk deep into his head, and a few day's worth of stubble showed on his face. He bore a cut above his left eye that looked as if it was relatively recent and probably infected. The pitiful human looked at his accusers expressionlessly, waiting.

Belladauna was the first to speak. "Gateby, Mage of the kingdom of Dalaran. You are hereby charged with conspiracy against the Ghost in the Machine. Theft. Murder. Treason against this high council. What say you?"

Gateby merely smiled.

Belladauna had grown tired of his games a long time ago. "Do you deny these charges, filth?"

"I deny nothing." The Mage whispered hoarsely. He worked his mouth, trying to determine how to speak properly. "It seems the days of free will are gone."

Avellin spoke up. "Free will? You could have left us peacefully any time of your own choosing. You instead chose to lead a mutinous rebellion, resulting in several of our family members to become casualties of your macabre games."

The Mage rolled his hollow eyes. "I guess that's all relative to your point of view on the matter."

"There is only one side to this story," Shantor said with a tone of finality. "You stole poisons from Reney and used them to eliminate key members of our guild, thereby rocking our very foundations."

Belladauna interrupted him. "The sentence is death. If any of you are opposed, I suggest you speak up now."

She was met only by a grunt from Soultaker. The Warrior dropped the flask he had been drinking from with a shaking hand as foam frothed from his mouth. He fell out of his chair, his entire body twitching. He screamed as if his skin was aflame, and then was still.

Gateby emitted a dry chuckle. The Mage rose from his kneeling position, moving his hands in a circular motion before him. The bastard was channelling a spell, Bella saw.

Reney moved first. The Rogue flipped out of his chair, whirling in midair. In quick succession, he hurled one, two, three daggers that passed through the fabric of his own cloak before striking the Mage in the chest. Gateby dropped soundlessly to the floor, dead. Reney walked over to the body and retrieved his blades before smashing the heel of his boot in the traitor's face.

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The first thing Denmar noticed upon exiting the inn was the body of a Valgarde sentry staked to the mailbox. Trying to keep his stomach down, the Druid raced towards the sound of the screams coming from the center of the small village.

He arrived at the guardsmen's bonfire in the middle of the camp to discover that Belladauna and Shantor were right on his heels. Lord Irulon Trueblade was propped against a log by the fire, a darkly feather shafted arrow jutting from his skull. A Death Knight with hair the colour of dried blood stood a few paces away, engaged in a fight to the death with a frost lich, servant of the Lich King. A young draenei woman was sitting on the ground and backing away from the commotion with her hands, scuffling in the dirt. She was the one who had been screaming so obnoxiously.

He tried to direct the female's attention away from the battle as Shantor and Belladauna went to assist in the fight. "Excuse me, miss," he called out to her. She turned her head towards him, her eyes wide. "What is your name?"

"Y-yazmina," She stammered. "Anchorite Yazmina," she said, clearing her throat. Her accent was as prominent as Bella's.

"Alright, Yazmina. I want you to get out of here and find someplace safe to hide. Go, now!"

The young draenei nodded, holding her dress in her hands as she climbed to her feet, and then cantering away in a rush.

Denmar returned to the scene just in time to witness Shantor imbue his sword with holy light and decapitate the lich in one fell swoop. He returned the blade to the sheath on his belt and approached the Druid. "That is not the last of them, I fear. More will come. We need to be gone from this place."

Belladauna and the Death Knight walked up beside the Paladin. Denmar eyed the third warily. "Who is he?" the Druid asked.

"Better off to watch your tongue, elf," Denmar heard the Death Knight mutter to himself.

Bella clicked her tongue, snapping her gaze at the Death Knight. "Blëëd, he is one of us now. You would do well to respect him." She returned her eyes to the Druid. "Denmar, this is Blëëd, one of your brothers, now. He is a Knight of the Ebon Blade."

Denmar eyed the other up and down as the Death Knight fingered the shaft of his axe over his shoulder thoughtfully. Shantor broke the tension. "Well, I can see you two are going to get along fabulously."

Belladauna spoke up again. "We really need to go now," the Shaman said as the bonfire crackled in anticipation.

The four of them moved towards the path up the mountainside behind the camp, with Blëëd bringing up the rear. They left the port town of Valgarde to the dead and dying.

Denmar had to quicken his step to catch up to the Shaman. The draenei's hooves were better made for climbing steep slopes than his boots. He slowed his pace beside her. "Earlier you told me that you had an incursion within the guild. What did you mean by that?"

The Shaman glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye. She seemed to be chewing her own tongue. "Walk with me, night elf, and I will tell you a tale of deception."

__________

Back at the Valgarde town inn, amidst all the chaos and rubble and dust, the death knight Ixchel felt life again.

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_A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique?_


	9. Delivering the Message

_A/N: Chapter Nine. I actually don't like this chapter at all, but I found it to be necessary. _

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CHAPTER NINE

DELIVERING THE MESSAGE

The Legerdemain Lounge, (or Ledgerdemain Lounge, depending on which floor you were on), was an inn located in the northern quarter of Runeweaver Square in Dalaran. The extravagant inn consisted of two floors, and a balcony overlooking the northern area of the city. The inn was a sanctuary of sorts for members of both the Alliance and Horde factions. Dalaran was a neutral zone, but the truce was precariously held.

King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind was one of the two patrons currently staying at the inn. He had heard mention of a tauren that was occupying one of the other rooms, but Wrynn had never caught sight nor sound of him, unless you counted the occasional creak of the bed frame.

Wrynn lounged in an overcushioned armchair in the accommodating and comfortable room that had become his home away from home over the past few weeks. Violet crystals adorned the exquisite chandelier that was suspended from the ceiling, as well as decorating each corner of the four-poster bed. The bed itself was draped with a silk curtain the colour of geraniums. A simple quilt cascaded across the bed to just below the pillows that had designs he had never seen before. Paintings of fruit and landscapes hung from opposite corners of the room. He was sitting next to a neatly organized and alphabetized bookcase in an oak frame. A burgundy chest of drawers sat across the bed from him.

King. He mused over the word, stroking the beginnings of a beard on a war weary face. He didn't know what he was king over anymore. His city was ravaged beyond hope for salvation. Mindless Scourge minions roamed the streets of Stormwind now, and the few people that remained were made to suffer. He dimly recalled his lieutenants saying something about a Horde encampment parked outside the city. But the Horde had not done this. It was a masterstroke diversion by the Lich King. While the defenders of Stormwind had prepared themselves for what they had thought would be a simple Horde raid on their city, the essence of the Scourge had skulked through the foundations and created a foothold. The death knights and others that had attacked that day were not members of the opposing faction at all, merely ever faithful servants of Arthas.

By the time he had realized the treachery, it was already too late. Varian had stood tense in the audience chamber of Stormwind Keep, his flaming twin swords an understatement of the rage within him. The elegant throne of Stormwind stood in powerful defiance behind him, but he didn't think he could manage to sit down without twitching anxiously. He was ringed by a circle of Royal Guards that were charged to protect the bloodline at whatever cost. Stained glass windows encircled the vaulted ceiling, the last rays of sunlight drifting hazily in.

A messenger had come running up the entrance ramp, shoving hastily past the guards and falling to his knees before the mighty king. The young man was not very presentable; he was not even wearing a shirt. Wrynn managed to overlook his insolence, given the current state of things. "Lord Wrynn," the man huffed, "the bridge is taken. Jonathan and the others are falling back to the Keep."

Wrynn planted the tip of one of his blades in the stone floor before him, his face fuming. "Those bastards were quicker than I had anticipated. How long until the General arrives?"

The messenger cast his eyes about the floor hastily before responding. "Minutes, sir, minutes only. But sir, there is one more thing. The guards, they found a body amidst all the rubble. It was hacked beyond belief and barely recognizable, but they know a lich when they see one."

Varian's eyes widened in shock at the boy's revelation. Before he had time to respond, the air shimmered in front of him, coalescing into a solid form. Wrynn's head was still reeling with the news he had just learned, too disoriented to notice the dagger that arched towards his ribcage. A guard had called out a brief warning, and then it was all over. The next thing the king knew, he was a patron of the Legerdemain Lounge.

Now, back in the present, there was a hesitant knock on the door to his room. Varian swivelled his head in the direction of the noise, not registering what it was for a second. The knock was repeated a second time, and then a third, growing more insistent.

"Enter," the king said dryly.

A gangly man with eyes that would have been more appropriate on an insect and curly blond hair poked his head around the door frame. "Your pardon, sir, but there are some people here to see you. They're causing quite a ruckus with the innkeeper, sir. They say it's important, sir."

The youth never ceased with the formalities. As far as Wrynn could tell, he was the inn's only form of room service. "Thank you, Terrence," Wrynn replied, just as nonchalantly as before.

The boy bowed out of the room with a mumbled "Yes, sir." Wrynn stretched half-heartedly and sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment. It was about time they showed up. He had spent many sleepless nights, being plagued by nothing but dreams about that wretched night elf and his bloody letter. Shaking his head with a slight smile on his face, he planted his hands on his knees and rose from the chair, departing silently from the room.

The common room of the inn was capacious. It was the size of a small cantina. Half a dozen tables surrounded by chairs were scattered across the expanse of tile. Candelabras sat on each of the table tops, along with an assortment of meat, fruits, and drink from every corner of Azeroth. There were exotic plants on display in every nook of the room. Several bookcases lined one length of wall, separated by oil paintings and lanterns cast in brackets. The wall across the room was reserved for the bar and fireplace, which was crackling merrily to greet the coming day.

Amisi Azuregaze, proprietor of the Legerdemain Lounge, was being hassled by four people that had just entered the inn. The night elf that stood in the foreground held up his hand to stop the innkeeper from what she had been going to say and turned his head in the direction of Wrynn as the king descended the stairs. The quadruplet pushed past the astonished innkeeper, making their way towards Varian.

The night elf that had disturbed his dreams so many times marched right up to his face and stared intently into his eyes before saying, "Varian Wrynn, I have something of yours." The elf reached a hand into his pocket and withdrew a small envelope. Wrynn took the proffered item without looking at it.

The elf stared at him. "Well? Aren't you going to open it?"

In answer, the king pushed his way past the four of them and strode across the room to the stone fireplace, tossing the envelope into the flames. The fire roared anew at the new fuel.

The night elf's eyes went wide. His face contorted in fury. "Why would you do that?" He demanded. The elf's companions had shown no emotion prior to this, but now the draenei female and two humans seemed to grow agitated. "Do you know how long it took us to get here?" The elf shouted at him.

The draenei placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, leaning her head towards his ear and whispering softly. He seemed to grow a bit calmer after that. Varian waited a moment before responding. "I already know what it said, Denmar," he replied simply.

Denmar was taken aback slightly. "How do you know me? And how could you possibly know what it said without opening it?"

Wrynn sighed. "I know you because you have been the spotlight of my dreams for the past few weeks, ever since I had arrived in Dalaran. I don't know why I'm having dreams about you, and quite frankly, it's a little unsettling. I know much more than the contents of that letter. I know what Reney plans to do. I know that he has to be stopped at any cost."

At this, one of the humans spoke up. He was balding and middle aged, with the holy aura of a paladin around him. "Plans to do?" The Paladin said. "He's going back to get our guild member. My wife," he said with a note of sadness.

Varian cocked his head at the paladin. "And in so doing, your friend may bring about the end of this world."

Denmar interrupted. "What are you talking about? You're not making any sense man."

"I will explain everything in good time," Wrynn said. "Now is neither the time nor place for this. We have bigger things to deal with this day. The Violet Hold is losing integrity. The seal on the prison is about to collapse."

The four of them just looked at him with blank faces. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated, Wrynn thought.

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_A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique?_


	10. The Breaking of the Seal

_A/N: Yes, this chapter is twice as long as what I usually write. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I didn't really want to break it into two chapters. It all seemed to be of one seam, so to speak. I hope you enjoy it._

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CHAPTER TEN

THE BREAKING OF THE SEAL

Denmar was completely and utterly flabbergasted. Glancing to his side, he could see that Belladauna was shifting on her hooves in trepidation. A throat was cleared from somewhere behind him. He couldn't distinguish if it came from Shantor or the Death Knight. Wrynn was just shaking his head and muttering to himself. He seemed extremely frustrated. Before anyone could speak further, the Druid held up a hand.

"So you're saying," he began, "that we came all this way to deliver a message you already knew, and on top of that, we're to abandon our friends?"

Wrynn looked up. He had been pacing back and forth, but now he looked the Druid dead in the eye. "I never once said you had to abandon anyone. On the contrary, the four of you need to make haste to Ulduar at once. I had hoped to see you out of the city before the day was done, but now it is too late. The Blue Dragonflight is unleashed."

Belladauna, distraught over some personal conflict, threw her hands up in the air and planted herself firmly in a chair by the window, mumbling to herself about imbeciles and the fruits of everything they had worked so hard for gone to waste. Shantor walked over and laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice. Her eyes were glazed over. The Shaman was lost in her own world.

Wrynn took this all in without so much as blinking. Denmar was growing increasingly agitated with the man the longer they were there. "Malygos's agents will storm through the crack in the Violet Hold's foundation at any second, threatening the continuity of the way of life of Dalaran."

The Druid was only half listening. "How do you know so much about us? About everything?" He asked.

Wrynn resumed his pacing. The King almost seemed to be smiling, Denmar thought. "You told me so yourself, High Druid." Denmar almost screamed. He had had quite enough of the idiotic honorific. "I mentioned to you this recurring dream that has plagued me since my arrival here, yes?"

The Druid nodded fervently.

"Good," Wrynn continued, gesturing emphatically with his hands as he paced. "In this dream, I am circling the Queen's chamber at Wyrmrest Temple in the form of a Red Dragon aspect. It startled me at first to find myself in such a form, but I quickly accepted it as the dream reiterated night after night. The dream was always the same. Alexstrasza has a visitor. She addresses this person as 'High Druid', and he proceeds to tell her of Malygos's plan to assault Dalaran. She declines his request for assistance, claiming that the Red Dragonflight has no agents to send to Dalaran. The night elf grows furious, and hurls insults at the Queen before leaving in a huff. That is how events unfolded every time.

"Except the last." Denmar stiffened. "Agents of the Blue Dragonflight swept out of thin air and decimated the Queen's chamber before anyone had time to act. I could only watch, stunned. I was too mesmerized to move. And then I woke up, drenched in a cold sweat." Wrynn stopped pacing and dropped his hands. He was gazing out the window. The sun was rising, casting rays of light in the room that made the dust motes sparkle in the air.

The four of them had been listening to Wrynn recant his tale impassively. No one spoke for the longest time. Denmar was the first to stir. "I had the same dreams, the same variance," he said to the King.

"I thought as much," Wrynn replied grimly. "The end result of the dream tells me only one thing." He turned back to face the Druid. Belladauna sat up straighter in her chair, brushing the Paladin's hand from her shoulder. "The Red Dragonflight cannot help us," Wrynn said. "We are alone."

__________

Cyanigosa held the last guard firmly as the final seconds of life flowed from the gash in his throat, then let the body crumple to the floor as she replaced the sapphire studded dagger on her belt. The lieutenant wrenched the shoulder of the nearest wyrmkin cultist running by and spun the creature around to face her. "Get that door open now, or you're next," she threatened, gesturing to the corpse at her feet.

The Violet Hold had been filled with row upon row of deadly inmates for generations, each a potential threat to the city of Dalaran. The prison had been diligently watched over by the Kirin Tor, and even the blood elf Prince Kael'Thas Sunstrider found himself confined there after forging a desperate alliance with the naga. Although he managed to escape captivity with the help of Lady Vashj, the prison had otherwise enjoyed stability for many years; at least, it had been until the incursion of Cyanigosa and her Blue Dragonflight minions.

Malygos's lieutenant was quite beautiful in her elf form. Locks of blonde hair cascaded about her flawless form and settled on the richly decorated shoulderpads she wore. Her dress was blue and lilac sewn with golden thread, with complementing boots. Her emerald eyes shined out brightly; she was the focal point of the room.

The great blue dragon in blood elf form mounted the steps that led out of this dreadful place to the currently impenetrable door that would allow them access to the city of Dalaran. Jumbles of her servants were already gathered about the seal on the prison, casting an assortment of spells to test its integrity. She dimly registered the sound of portals opening on the balconies behind her as more soldiers of the Blue Dragonflight joined in the cause.

She tapped her foot impatiently, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "How much longer?" She called out, not really expecting a response. The wyrmkin had no vocal cords, after all.

The massive hole in the prison's roof let in a ray of sunlight that glared down on her and her malevolent task. Her golden hair seemed aglow with it. Cyanigosa had always despised the sun, and the immense heat.

The lieutenant did not have to wait long for her answer.

The door trembled.

__________

Tying his obtrusively long chestnut hair back into a ponytail, Sÿkar stepped gingerly into the steaming bath water he had drawn for himself. The Paladin eased the aching muscles of his back against the soothing tin of the tub and let the bubbles froth around him. He settled back and sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

The gargantuan draenei had had a very eventful week, judging from the bruises and cuts that were on display all across his chest and arms. There was a deeper gash along his left cheek that would probably get infected unless he did something about it. Sÿkar was not deeply concerned with his wounds at the moment. The relieving bath water had temporarily dispersed his pain and he was able to relax, at long last. He drummed his hooves against the bottom of the tub in a soothing rhythm, humming softly.

The inn's bathhouse was a massive room occupied by nothing besides the tub that had many jewelled and faceted faucets and row upon row of freshly laundered towels that were stacked against one wall. His clothes were gathered in a heap on the floor where he had left them. Green and white marble tile covered the expanse of floor. He had left the door cracked open so the steam wasn't trapped in with him, and now a small figure stuck its head around the nook.

"Sÿk," emitted a small squeak, "that miserable old codger Velen asked me to come and find you."

Sÿkar jumped at the sudden intrusion and opened his eyes, lifting his head off the back of the tub. The steam had dissipated enough for him to see the tiny gnome that was pushing the door open. Her glossy black hair was done up in short, spiky pigtails behind her head with her bangs draped over her face. Her azure eyes glimmered at him over a button nose and smirking mouth.

"Baiitt," Sÿkar drawled hazily, still relaxed from the bath. "It do be far more pleasing to me when you knock." His words were all slurred together in the thick dialect of his home world; most people he came across could not understand him, but the Warlock had been around him for too long.

Baiitt backed out of the room in a huff, pulling the door to behind her. She called out to him from the hall. "Have it your way then, you great buffoon! You ain't got nothing I haven't seen before. 'Cept maybe those tentacles. Disgusting." Her voice died off as she traipsed down the hall.

Sÿkar yanked on the drain and clambered out of the bath in a rush, ignoring the returning spark of pain from his injuries. He towelled himself off half-heartedly before dressing and exiting the room, pulling the door shut behind himself.

The short expanse of hall led to the accommodating common room. The Warlock was nowhere in sight. The innkeeper, a draenei called Breel, was an irritable man who kept to himself and asked no questions. He was wiping a dirty glass with a filthier rag and glowered at him as the Paladin came around the corner and strode outside. Sÿkar ignored him.

The Exodar was the enchanted capital city of the draenei. Formerly a dimensional ship satellite structure of the dimensional fortress known as Tempest Keep, it recently crashed on Azeroth. The magnificent city contained a large amount of technological wonders, such as magically enchanted wires which transported holy energy throughout the ship to power the various systems and fuel the draenei's already considerable powers.

The Seat of the Naaru was the central section of the Exodar where O'ros, a naaru, resided down on the lower levels. It was a circular area with purple flux shimmering in the center. The central hub contained entrances to the city bank, auction house, and provided access to three other wings. The inn he had just ventured from was on the second floor. Sÿkar made his way over to the ramp that would take him to the lower level and into the city.

The Paladin carefully stepped through the city traffic, gently guiding shoppers and visitors out of his way as he moved past the bank and toward the Vault of Lights. He walked swiftly under the crystal-adorned arched entrance and strode intently toward the holographic display in the center of the area.

The Vault of Lights housed a holographic museum of several Burning Legion minions that took up most of the wing, for the interest and further education of the next generation. A small group of young draenei were taking a tour of the display, he saw upon coming closer.

A mechanical voice emanated from each of the displays as the group studied them. Sÿkar managed to overhear what was said as he started up the staircase that was at the rear of the area.

"Function: Secret Police, Interrogator," the recording said. "The Nathrezim are merciless villains who feed upon the energies of mortal creatures. They utilize terror and subterfuge, often turning brother against brother as whole worlds fall before their dark influence.

The Prophet Velen stood impassively upon a platform at the top of the stairs, ringed by a small contingent of his personal guards, the Shield of Velen. The draenei was ancient, yet no less impressive. He had been the leader of the draenei since their flight from Argus 25,000 years before the first orcish invasion of Azeroth. He had been granted the gift of prophecy and had guided his people as they fought against the Burning Legion, who had ensnared their eredar brethren. He was the first of the draenei and was the arch-nemesis of Kil'jaeden.

The leader of the draenei people was not one to follow fashion. His multicoloured robes flowed in ripples down his glorified body before gathering in a pile about his feet. Shoulderpads draped with length of tassel made him seem as if he was about to take flight. A red and golden headpiece rose several inches behind him, complementing his wide berth. Bushy eyebrows stuck out above jade eyes that stared out at the Paladin without reaction. His beard was well groomed and tidy around his many tentacles.

"Esteemed High Prophet Velen," the Paladin bowed with as much grace as he could possible muster. "You requested me?"

The much older draenei worked his moustaches frivolously before replying. "Sÿkar. Good that that dratted Warlock has enough sense in her to do my bidding. How are you today, Paladin?"

Sÿkar had never been one for pointless chatter, but he didn't want to be rude. "As good as I do can be, Your Highness," he answered. "Pardon me, sir, but why do I be here?"

The Prophet twirled the staff he carried for a moment before striking it on the floor before himself quite firmly, resting both hands atop it. "All business, I see. Very well, then. We have received a distress transmission from the Kirin Tor. Rhonin tells us that Dalaran is besieged by the Blue Dragonflight."

Sÿkar felt his face twitch in shock. "That do no be possible, Lord Velen."

"I didn't think so, either, but the men I have stationed there tell me otherwise." The Prophet replied dejectedly.

"What do you be wanting me to do?" Sÿkar asked.

Velen threw up one of his hands and a shimmering portal burst into life before the Paladin's eyes. He could see the spires and parapets of Dalaran on the other side. The city was burning.

"Take the portal, Sÿkar," the Prophet said. "May the Light travel with you."

Sÿkar bowed again before placing one hand on his sword hilt and stepping forward, ready to face his fate.

"Hang on, there!" He heard a squeak behind him. Turning, he saw the little Warlock climbing the last step and jogging toward him, breathing heavily. "You can move fast when you want to, big guy. You ain't going nowhere without me," She said matter-of-factly.

Sÿkar just stared blankly at her, lost for words. The Prophet was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Both of you, then. Go now, Enforcers!"

The diminutive Warlock grasped onto his arm firmly, and without further ado, they stepped through the portal.

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Night fell heavily and the streets of Dalaran were littered with dozens of corpses. Rubble from partially collapsed buildings was scattered throughout the city. Almost everything that was left standing was aflame, and columns of smoke rose high into the air, blanketing the stars. Screams of the dying haunted the minds of those that still lived, and cowered in fear.

Blood elf captain Athaede Dawnbreaker crept along a narrow alleyway with a small squadron of his guards, using only hand signals so as not to draw attention. He directed two of his men to scout the intersection ahead before the rest of them would take an unnecessary risk. It didn't take much to confirm his suspicions. The harsh screech of a dragon cut through the night like a hammer as his scouts were engulfed in billowing flames. Their blood wrenching screams died off fairly quickly. The dragon had devoured them whole, he assumed.

There was no need for quietness any longer. The dragon had spotted the remainder of his group some time ago. He called out quickly, "Nock arrows, men! Fire at will!" The sound of arrows being pulled taut and then released dimly registered in the back of his mind. The dragon bellowed in pain. His sword was already in hand as he ordered a charge on the wounded beast. Before they could draw close enough, however, a great black cat darted out of the night and snapped its jaws around the elongated neck of the dragon, leaving deep lacerations. The Blue Dragonflight agent slumped to the ground and did not move.

Athaede reined in the haphazard charge, staring at the panther. A tight knit group of people came running around a bend in the street, one lighting a path before them with a flame that hovered over an outstretched palm. There were four men and a female draenei. The blood elf captain recognized only two. Rhonin of the Kirin Tor and Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind.

Returning his gaze to the cat, Athaede was not too surprised to see it had transformed into the figure of a muscular night elf. He was hunched over defensively, and seemed to be listening to the wind. He paid no mind to the blood elf, or to his companions. Finally, he spoke, directing his attention to the captain. "You look to be a man of importance," he said. "My name is Denmar. This is Belladauna, Shantor, Rhonin, and Varian," he gestured to each in turn. "Oh, and that ass with them is Blëëd," he said with much amusement.

The one he had insulted stepped forward with a mumbled, "Bloody little night elf—", but Belladauna held up a hand and he stopped, teetering on one foot. Athaede looked back to Denmar.

"We didn't think any one else was alive," the captain said, astounded.

"There aren't many," the Druid replied. "This day has taken a toll on all of us. I think my companions and I have dealt with the remainder of the cultists on the ground. Whatever's left of them shouldn't be too troublesome. The real issue now is the dragons, and Cyanigosa. Rhonin here has a little trap planned for them, but we need your help."

"Gladly, I offer it," Athaede replied.

"We've improvised with what materials we had and constructed a catapult back there," Denmar pointed the way they had come. "You and your men must gather rubble from the streets and bring it to us as soon as possible."

It was a strange plan, the captain thought, but he voiced no opinion. "As you wish, sir." He started off down the street with his men, and they were soon swallowed by the night.

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Baiitt struggled for a long moment with her Felhunter. The demon was overjoyed with the fresh carcass of the wyrmkin cultist it had just killed all by itself, and it had chosen this moment to feast in celebration. It had latched its fangs around the neck of the despicable creature and would not let go, suckling happily and ignoring the prodding of its master.

Finally, the Warlock huffed and drew her wand, striking her companion with the ignited tip. The Felhunter yelped and withdrew from its prey, trembling in fear. "Now, puppy," Baiitt scolded, shaking a finger. She had no idea how to pronounce its true name. "You can eat after the battle, okay?"

The demon wagged its tail at her and its eyes shined out of the darkness joyfully. Baiitt replaced the wand in her robes and turned to look up the street. Sÿkar had planted one hoof on the body of the cultist he had just killed and was trying desperately to wrench his axe from the beast's skull. With a grunt, he managed to yank it free and staggered back. He chuckled to himself as he walked over to her.

"This do be an interesting night," the Paladin said dryly.

Baiitt huffed again. "I don't know what Velen expected us to do. Everyone here is dead. There are only two of us and the Light knows how many dragons."

"It be no use sitting here waiting and wondering, Baiitt," he said. "We could at least have a look around."

"I suppose so," The Warlock replied with a grimace. The Felhunter tapped its hooves against the cobblestones hopefully. "Come on then, big fella," she started on down the chaos strewn street, motioning him on behind her.

Something immense blocked the next bend in the street. It was too dark to make out what it was until they had drawn closer. A great blue dragon was draped across the road, eyes glazed over in death. Its leathery wings were bent at odd angles; it had probably been killed in mid flight. This was the first dragon they had come across. Looking closer, Baiitt could see pieces of shrapnel embedded in the creature's belly. It almost looked to be pieces of rubble that was scattered throughout the city streets. That didn't make sense to her. She looked over at the Paladin, but he just shook his head.

They continued on down a side alley, coming out onto another street. This one looked much the same as the last, except there were no dragons in sight, alive or dead. Instead, the cobblestones were soaked in blood and covered with the bodies of city defenders with the occasional wyrmkin among them. They stepped gingerly around the bodies, careful not to disturb the dead. Sÿkar hacked at the corpse of a cultist every now and then for good measure.

The two of them stopped dead at the next intersection. She could hear hurried whispers coming from around the corner. She glanced up at the Paladin and opened her mouth to call out, but he wrapped his hand around her head and over her mouth, shushing her. He looked at her until she understood, and then withdrew his arm.

They crept forward silently, peeking around the corner of a charred and smoking building.

There were four or five people gathered around what seemed to be a makeshift catapult. One of them walked over to the none too small pile of rubble and selected a suitable piece before placing it in the launcher and pulling the switch. The hunk of stone was vaulted high into the air, out of sight of the Warlock and Paladin. A deep male voice resonated from the darkness. "Now, Rhonin!"

A firebolt blazed out from the group, arching in the direction of the rubble. Baiitt couldn't determine which one of them had cast it. Only a moment passed before they heard the resounding crash of the fire striking the rubble and the resulting screech of a dragon. Another second went by before they dimly caught the thump of the dragon's corpse thudding to the ground in some far off sector of the city. Baiitt finally understood the shrapnel. The firebolt had shattered the stone and sent pieces flying in all directions. Not a bad strategy at all.

The Warlock smiled ecstatically up at Sÿkar and walked over to the group, her Felhunter trailing a step behind her. The Paladin hissed after her but followed reluctantly.

One of them called out a warning as Baiitt and the Paladin drew closer. One of the men held up an outstretched hand and a flamed sparked to life there, hovering. All four of them were men, save for the lone draenei. This last approached both of them with caution. "Please stop right there," she called out. Her accent wasn't as prominent as Sÿkar's, Baiitt noticed. The Warlock obliged her, and she heard the Paladin halt behind her.

"Who are you, and how did you come to be here?" The female asked.

"My name is Baiitt," The Warlock answered, holding up her hands in peace. "This bear behind me is Sÿkar. We just arrived here from the Exodar. Prophet Velen said you needed assistance?" It was more a question than a statement.

The draenei raised one eyebrow, but before she could speak, the one holding the flame stepped forward. He looked haggard, and dark circles lurked under his eyes from lack of sleep, but he was no less imposing. "He only sent you two?" The man asked.

"Yes," Baiitt replied evenly. "But you six seem to have things well under control here."

"Ah, well, that was not entirely my doing." The man inclined his head slightly, barely perceptible. It was as much of a bow as she was going to get from him. "I am Arch Mage Rhonin of the Kirin Tor. Varian Wrynn sits on the ground over there. Resting, he says."

"I was stabbed, idiot," a voice called out from the darkness.

The Mage rolled his eyes. "He complains too much. That pretty lady over there is Belladauna. I believe Denmar, Shantor, and Blëëd are all with her," he finished, gesturing to each of them.

The Warlock was amazed and quite joyous to find other living souls in this place. "What are you all doing here?" She asked.

Rhonin waved her question off. "That is a long, long story with many different perspectives that deserves better pomp and circumstances than we can afford this night." The Mage looked over her shoulder. "Hello there, friend." Sÿkar just stood there awkwardly. "He doesn't talk much, does he?" He asked her.

"You have no idea," Baiitt replied flippantly.

Before anyone could say anything else, a shadow waded out from a side alley and into their midst. Baiitt tensed at the sight of the blood elf, but Rhonin just waved him over. "Athaede, Captain," he called out. "Why do you not bring more rubble?"

The blood elf walked over and planted his fist on his heart in salute. "I bring news, sir. An airship has docked at Krasus' Landing. I spoke with the first officer, a man named Van Rossem. They are willing to carry passengers, but they will not wait long. I returned to you as fast as I could, but we cannot tarry here. We must go now!"

"An airship, you say," the Mage pondered for a moment. "Where are they headed, Captain?"

"Icecrown, sir. Into the Lich King's dark territory. But it's a right side better than this place."

"Indeed it is. Our work here is finished." The Mage walked back over to his group, leaving Baiitt and the Paladin standing there with the Captain.

Sÿkar decided to break the silence. "Hello. I keep telling Baiitt this do be an interesting night. Do you no agree?" He smiled unabashedly at the blood elf.

Athaede just stared at him for a moment before looking at the Warlock. "What did he say?"

"Never mind," Baiitt shook her head, smiling in the darkness.

The nine of them gathered what little provisions the could from the salvaged catapult and started out for the city's docking sector, Wrynn limping along with the assistance of the one Rhonin had called Shantor. A few times Baiitt thought she heard the leathery beat of dragon wings on the wind and thought that they were doomed, but it must have been her mind playing tricks on her. They made it to Krasus' Landing without incident.

They rounded the stairs that led to the courtyard and made their way over to the airship that waited across the expanse of cobblestone and bushes. Athaede called out hurriedly. "Officer Rossem! I've brought them!"

A rope was thrown over the side of the ship and tumbled down through the night, dangling in front of them. Belladauna was the first to ascend, with the insistence of Rhonin and Denmar. The rest followed in quick succession until only Baiitt, Sÿkar, and the Captain were left on the platform.

Athaede motioned them on. "You two go first, I'll watch—" he cut off with a grunt. A spear tip protruded from his chest, and blood began to froth from his wound. He looked at them with helpless eyes, mouth gaping.

The wyrmkin cultist holding the spear tossed the Captain's body aside, pulling his weapon free and directing his attention at Baiitt. The Felhunter hissed angrily, but Sÿkar was faster.

The draenei didn't even bother to draw his axe. He snatched the back of the creature's head with one hand and smashed it squarely in the face with the other fist. Once. Twice. The dazed wyrmkin toppled to the ground as the gleeful Felhunter pounced upon its prey. The demon tore off a chunk of flesh before Sÿkar picked it up in his arms and waved the Warlock up the rope. "Go! Now!" He shouted.

Baiitt scrambled up, the Paladin trailing quickly behind her. A uniformed man stood in front of her when she clambered onto the ship's deck. She assumed he was the officer Athaede had mentioned. "Bring in the line!" He called out after Sÿkar had heaved himself over the side behind her. Two crewmen rushed forward, reeling in the rope and tying it securely in place. The officer turned his attention to the two most recent additions to his ship.

"You two can go wait below deck with the rest of your friends," he said. "We'll be in Icecrown before the night is out, provided everything goes well. I suggest you try to get some sleep. It's going to be a cold dawn."

Baiitt was only half listening. Sÿkar set the Felhunter down as he and the Warlock moved past the officer and started down the stairs in a haze. They were both exhausted.

In the darkness, a dragon screeched.

_____

_A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique?_


	11. Memories

**_Author's Note: Again, I'm sorry for the delay. I've had quite a bit on my plate lately. Here's Chapter 11. It's sort of a filler chapter. That is to say, it provides some backstory into my OC. I hope you enjoy it. XD_**

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

MEMORIES

The glaciers of Icecrown stank of death and decay. Nothing moved in the desolate land—at least, nothing that wasn't held under sway of the Lich King. The harsh terrain was a blight in the backdoor of Northrend. There were no trees or lichen, merely snow and ice that stretched as far as the eye could see. Mindless servants of the Lich King wandered these forsaken lands, lost within their own torment.

Through all the corruption trudged a lone figure, his boots cleaving permanent indentations into the snow. The cold stung his eyes, and a particularly violent gust of wind plastered his hair against his face, freezing some of the locks there.

Ixchel took no notice of the weather as the death knight topped a high glacier and gazed out at the impressive display that was Icecrown Citadel. The resurrected former hero of the Alliance paused. To an outsider's uncaring eye, there was no way down. Ixchel pulled one of his swords free of its sheath and heaved forward with all his might, burying the weapon up to the hilt in the ice right at the edge of the cliff wall. The ice held firm; it didn't even crack.

With an exasperated sigh, the death knight catapulted into the air, throwing himself over the side of the cliff. His shoulder collided hard with the rock wall of the formation and he grunted from the impact. Without looking, Ixchel grasped for the artificial hand hold that he knew was there, carved right out of the ice. He was rewarded when the protruding block of ice met his fingers. The shard warmed at his touch.

Quickly, the death knight wrenched his sword free of the ice and began to make his way down over the cliff wall, working his hands back and forth over the hidden grips until he felt solid ground beneath him. He replaced the blade in the leather scabbard on his hip and continued on.

So his journey had gone for the past two days. He had almost fallen to his death when his griffin abruptly dropped dead from the cold. The bird's heart had literally frozen solid. Luckily, his trajectory and the speed at which he was flying at the time was enough to project him and the bird over the next bluff, so he hadn't been that far off the ground.

He didn't really want to do this, but the alternative was worse. The Lich King would hunt him down and kill him if he failed to report in. No, Arthas wouldn't kill him. He wasn't nearly important enough for the Lich King to seek a vendetta against personally. But he _would _send agents after him.

He had failed to capture the Druid and bring him here. The Lich King wanted the night elf for some unknown purpose he would not share with one such as Ixchel. The death knight had assumed it would be a simple mission. He had not anticipated that the Druid would be accompanied by others. Blinded by his duty to his master, he carried on.

__________

The blaring of the complex's alarm jolted Ixchel from his restless and fitful night of sleep. For a long moment he lay there, uncomprehending the situation. He could barely see anything, besides the vague outline of a large circular room. There were dark shadows against the wall—perhaps furniture of some sort. And then he remembered where he was.

The young death knight sat up and rubbed the haze from his eyes. There was a murmur from across the room and a slight stir as his roommate roused himself. He blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and squinted in a vain effort to see something. He could just barely make out the other bed that was crammed against the far wall, and the shadow that was sitting atop it.

"What d'you reckon it is this time?" A slightly bored voice drawled.

"I don't know," he replied. "Could be anything, I suppose. The Scarlet Crusade has probably rallied another ultimate weapon against us."

The other death knight scoffed at him. "Those fools will soon feel the harsh bite of the Lich King. C'mon, we should probably go. I'll bet you anything that Mograine is waiting on us."

Ixchel didn't doubt it. The Highlord had once murdered one of his own Scourge because the poor sap had been attacked and failed to deliver a message on time.

Floating in the sky above Light's Hope Chapel, in the far eastern region of the Eastern Kingdoms, resided Acherus. The stronghold of the Scourge was the headquarters of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and served as a thorn in the Argent Dawn's foot.

Scattered about the halls of Acherus were mounds of bodies. Under the watchful eye of the maniacal Instructor Razuvious, Scourge necromancers raised bodies chosen by the Instructor and gauged for their worthiness. Also present inside the structure were runeforges, where death knights would emblazon their weapons with runes to better aid them in battle against their enemies.

Ixchel stepped gingerly across the room, still unable to see much. He groped blindly for the door handle and pulled it open, emitting in a slanting ray of light. The other man was still sitting in bed, peering at him with bleary eyes. The other's human features were completely unremarkable, with the exception of his shiny white hair that stood up in spiky locks and his exceptionally pale skin. His lips were blue, but it wasn't from the cold. His lips were always blue.

"Ryrr, are you coming?" Ixchel almost pleaded at him. It would be better if they weren't late.

The alarm bleated three more times in quick succession before the other death knight answered him. "You go on," he replied. "I'll catch up."

Ixchel shook his head but didn't voice an argument. He brushed his fingers back through his flowing white hair in frustration and slammed the door in the other man's face.

The corridor outside was a jumbled mass of people. The other soldiers of the Scourge had roused themselves from their own quarters within the barracks and now proceeded towards the sound of the alarm. Ixchel blended in with the swarm and let the flood carry him upward into the training section of the fortress.

They passed Amal'thazad's chamber on their way to the Highlord's room. The frost lich was leering at one of his disciples, a diminutive female night elf. "Should you have done so, you would have killed everyone in this room, Aluena," the lich rasped coldly. He extended a skeletal arm and the offending student was encased in chains of ice. She screamed and struggled, but the cage would not budge.

Darion Mograine stood imposingly, arms folded before him, as they approached. He was completely shielded in ebony plate armour. The man himself was a weapon. His armour was covered in spikes, and his helmet had horns protruding from it. His massive greatsword, Corrupted Ashbringer, was slung over his back.

They gathered around him in a circle, some of their ranks still rubbing sleep from their eyes. He stood eerily silent for a moment, studying them. Or rather, Ixchel assumed he was. He couldn't be certain _what_ the Highlord's eyes were doing behind that ethereal helmet.

"Had that been a real alarm," Mograine uttered finally in a voice colder than death, "we all would have been murdered in our beds. I expect better performance in the future."

Ixchel had forgotten about the alarm in the rush to get to the training area. He noticed now that the sharp keening noise had ceased. Feeling slightly ashamed that he had disappointed the Highlord, he kept his eyes to his feet.

"Now, who can tell me why we are here?" Darion asked in the same dead voice.

Ixchel's eyes shot upward. "Why we are here, sir?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes, Ixchel, why we are here. Anyone?"

A timid-looking young man with grizzled black hair raised a hand into the air hesitantly. Mograine's helmet turned towards him ever so slightly. _"__Yes?__"_

"Ours is not to question," he said in a small voice. "Only to act. We are the arm of the Lich King. His will is our device."

"Oh, well done, Dowtry," the Highlord said in mock jubilation. He heaved a sigh. It sounded odd from behind his visor. "Don't memorize what I say, you incompetent fool. Next time, I will kill you.

"This is just about the worst band of knights I have ever trained," Mograine went on, turning in a circle to regard all of them stoically. "I hope the task I've set before you tonight doesn't prove to be too troublesome."

A few among them shuffled their feet nervously, but nobody said anything. "Now then," Mograine held up a finger, but before he could go on, Ryrr bolted into the room, brushing past the knights in the back to take his place next to Ixchel's side. The Highlord's helmet turned towards him. Ixchel could feel the glare radiating from behind the armour.

"Ixchel, do you like your brother?" Mograine asked him suddenly.

The death knight was slightly taken aback. "Hmm? Oh…he's alright, I suppose."

"Too bad," Mograine said in a slightly disappointed tone. "Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Your task tonight should suffice to tell me which of you are fit to progress into the ranks of the Lich King's dark order. We are going to take New Avalon."

__________

Mayor Quimby let his monocle fall from his eye, where it dangled loosely on the thin chain that was wrapped around his ample neck. A small piece of parchment was curled tightly within his fist. He sat back in his chair and sighed, calmly regarding the woman that stood facing him on the other side of his desk. "What am I supposed to make of this?"

Amagny clasped her hands firmly before her and pursed her lips. "That, unfortunately, is up to you. I was simply asked to bear the message to you. The Ghost in the Machine is prepared to offer our services in this matter."

Quimby abruptly dropped the letter onto the desk and rose from his chair, turning his back on her. Amagny was startled that someone of such wide girth could move so quickly. Quimby stood facing the wall for a moment before he spoke finally.

"We do not have the means for such an assault," he said quietly.

"Better to try and fail than to have done nothing," Amagny said sternly. "It just so happens that we have a plan we can easily put into motion that will cripple the foundation of Acherus, leaving the Scarlet Crusade to purge the Scourge from the ruins."

"Amagny," a darkly toned male voice sounded behind her at the same time that a hand gently gripped her shoulder. "It's no use. He's not going to do it."

Reney turned to go, pulling her along after him, but Quimby broke the silence. "Wait," the Mayor said. He turned back to face them, his jowls quivering. "I'll do it."

Amagny heaved a sigh of relief and Reney clicked his tongue impatiently. "Watch for us," the Rogue said. "Two days."

Quimby nodded absently, but at that moment, a Crusader sped into the room, careening around the corner and knocking over a chair as she ran. She saluted briskly, but did not wait for permission to talk. Rather, she spoke so quickly it was difficult to understand her.

"Sir, the death knights have reached the inn. A whole battalion. Your orders, sir?"

Quimby just stared at her. He had not expected this. The soldier rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting for his response.

"Sound the alarm," he said in an authoritative voice. "Get the citizens across the mountains. Do not let them cross the square, at any cost."

She nodded and broke off at a run, gone as quickly as she had come. From somewhere far off, a horrible shriek cracked through the air to meet their ears.

Reney groaned. "They have a frost wyrm."

__________

"Please don't!" The pitiful old farmer was backing away from him across the grass. "I've got a wife back home, a-an' an' three kids an' everythin'!"

The man grunted as Ixchel planted a jewelled dagger in-between his ribs. He groaned and fell over, clearly dead. The death knight pulled his blade free with a distinct popping sound and wiped it clean on the man's tattered clothing.

"Nice one, brother," Ryrr called from where he stood not twenty paces away, his sword sticking out of the back of one of the Crusaders. He gave it a twist and pulled the weapon free. Ryrr did not bother to clean his blade.

The sound of hooves galloping against the cobblestones of the town square met their ears. The two brothers turned just in time as a Crusader raced towards them, polearm extended. "Bloody Scourge dogs!" The man screamed as he rode, and his horse whickered.

Ixchel winked at his brother and snatched the end of the lance as the man rode on by. The death knight heaved with all his might, and managed to unseat the Crusader from his horse. The animal seemed to take no notice of its now absent rider, and hurried on towards some unforeseen destination.

The Crusader hit the pavement with a resounding clink of armour and clambered to his feet just as swiftly, withdrawing a long knife from his belt. The man sneered at both of them but made no move against them. Ixchel realized he was still clutching the polearm, and let the weapon fall to the ground.

Upon seeing the supposedly disarmed death knight, the other man charged him with a violent roar that he didn't recognize but supposed must have meant something. Ixchel almost lazily cast out one arm and flicked his fingertips in the general direction of the other man. Instantly, a buzzing swarm of insects appeared from nowhere, engulfing the doomed Crusader in their mass. The man screamed for a long time before the cloud cleared. Nothing remained but a bloodied skeleton inside a heap of armour.

Fire blazed across the grass, cutting a path directly between Ixchel and his brother. Ryrr shouted a word of protest, but could find no way through the flames. And then the Mage was upon Ixchel, the accursed woman in her billowing Kirin Tor robes. She was on his right, her hands weaving as she began to cast another spell. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and discovered that she was on his left, too. Another projection of the woman walked out of the flames toward him, completely unmarked. All three were smiling at him.

Suddenly, his brother's voice cut across to him, calling his name. Ixchel looked across the raging firestorm just in time to see a dagger collide hard with Ryrr's spine. The other death knight grunted from the impact and dropped to his knees, mouth working soundlessly. He turned his head towards Ixchel, sharing a knowing look, before falling on his face in the grass. A man in dark leather and a swirling cape strode out from nowhere and retrieved his knife from Ryrr's body. He kicked over the corpse with his foot and spat.

Ixchel screamed. The woman on his right had almost finished her spell, but he didn't care. He screamed with fury, at the loss of his own blood. He threw his head back and howled at the sky, or what had been the sky a second ago.

Mograine's frost wyrm had swooped out of nowhere and descended from the heavens. All three images of the blasted Mage gazed up at the reincarnated dragon as one, now trembling in fear. The behemoth gingerly collected the death knight in one of its talon's and swept off towards Acherus. The death knight barely noticed, too consumed by grief.

He looked back and saw the fire still razing the grass. The Kirin Tor woman had coalesced back into her own body, and the speck of the man who had killed his brother was still visible on the other side of the flames.

They would pay, he thought to himself grimly, tears staining his face.

They would all pay.

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**_Author's Note: Comments, questions, praise, critique? ~ Denmar_**


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